The Forgotten
by Trihva
Summary: (Spare me, my sister has had to correct my Hogwarts lore) A tale of an enigmatic visitor to Hogwarts, and other things.


"_Across the tundra I drag myself, step by step,_" the strange creature's words still echoed in his memory. "_In search of Saint Elmo's Pizza Parlor_."

But that was from days long past. Nat hadn't visited the young Dakh for some years now. The form, the one of the short & comical fellow without a clear occupation or skill, began to fade with each day that passed. And Cora, she faded as well., much to Dakh's dismay. 

_However_, he mused, as he always mused on infinite things. The thoughts he conceived rarely ever saw an end or a completion. This contributed to his slow wit, though this was balanced, perhaps, by his unwavering principles on life. 

And now, even as his mind wandered, Dakh locked his chill inducing gaze on a lesser creature and carried out its destruction. "_Survival of the fittest..._"

In the library of the Hogwarts castle, sitting around one of the reading tables, were the sixth year wizards Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley of the House of Gryffindor. Hermione had pulled the other into studying for an exam in Protection from the Dark Arts, but something kept Ron from concentrating on the many parchments before him. 

"Did you hear?" questioned Ron. 

"Of what?" retorted the sorceress. A grin, one that reads "I know something you don't know," shot across Ron's face as he leaned nearer to Hermione.

"You mean to tell me you haven't heard of the 'visitor' to Hogwarts?" 

"The what?" Hermione's interest was peaked.

"A student, about our age, was transferred here from Eton. No one's sure why he's here, but there's the usual gamut of rumors, yah know." The two nodded, and Ron leaned back in his chair.

"So, do you know any, _facts_?" was Hermione's next question. 

"No, " Ron admitted. "But there's one way to find out a few." But Ron knew his attempts to part Hermione from her studies was fruitless. Nevertheless, he found an excuse to leave, and took it. 

Unbeknownst to Ron Weasley, a certain Slytherin character was listening in on his hasty plans (but plans, nonetheless). Like the serpent representing his House, the figure snaked his way behind the oblivious wizard and tracked him into the Great Hall. There, sitting at the end of one of the extensive and otherwise vacant tables, was Harry Potter of Gryffindor and a new face, whose form was sheathed in unfamiliar robes and sharp angled face hidden behind thin, silver hair. Some inkling told Ron that this fellow was the visitor he sought to unravel.

"Well," muttered Ron, "so much for super spy," and with that he approached the duo in the midst of Wizard's Chess. Harry acknowledged Ron's presence with the casual greeting, but the nameless shadow didn't even bother to look up.

"Is this the visitor from Eton, Harry?" Ron moved to confirm his suspicions. 

"Yeah," Harry seemed distant, like something was eating away at him, "this is Dakh Moonshot. Dakh, this here is Ron Weasley." Dakh lifted his head, and Ron got his first good look at this enigma's face. A scar, most likely of blade origin, ran vertically from his right eye to the center of his cheek. And his eyes--a shiver through Ron's body--were of a shade of blue that was like the center of a flame. Some say that the eyes are windows to the soul, and Dakh's portals were a paradox of hate and care, anguish and hope, turmoil and peace. A monotonous, single worded response broke the eerie silence that lasted a whole second.

"Salutations." Dakh responded and went back to planning his next maneuver on the chess board. 

"Um, hi." Ron pulled his senses back together and thought, _How can he possibly be our age? _

Hurrah, a new acquaintance, the sarcastic thought ran in and out of Dakh's mind. He frightened this Ron person, he could tell. The way he seized up, Dakh could tell Ron caught a glimpse of his, "skills." Tis a good means of keeping people away, prevent them from asking too many questions. _However_, Dakh mused, _there is a price to pay for isolation_. For a fleeting moment, Cora's oval face smiled back at him as Dakh delved into the ruins that were his memory. Cora...yes...his plans...It was the one thing he had set his mind to and failed. _If I don't stop this nonsense, I'm going to lose this stupid game of chess._ And with that, Dakh allowed his mind to wander on the task before him.

An hour had passed, and Ron watched the two stall against each other, like two great winds of equal strength. Harry had become quite good at Wizard's Chess in his six years at Hogwarts (not as good as Ron, mind you), but now he began making simple mistakes against the novice Dakh. 

At long last, Black Rook took White King and the game was finished. This was the moment the covert watcher had been waiting some time for.

"Well, Potter, it appears even a rookie player can best you," Draco Malfoy of Slytherin stepped forward from his hiding spot and into the light of the Great Hall, a sneer across his face. In the years he had been "hunting" Potter, Draco had become patient in his schemes, but not so much wiser. He is still as arrogant and ambitious as ever, and it clearly showed. 

"Go away, Draco, I have a headache as it is," Harry shot at the approaching Malfoy. The distraught wizard was unusually weary. _Intriguing_, mused Draco.

"And you, you are Dakh Moonshot, are you not?" Dakh nodded a slow affirmative. "Ah, a fellow Slytherin. Congratulations on your defeat of this Griffyn_dork_." Harry and Ron were startled by this news of which House Dakh had been sorted to.

"You're a Slytherin?" Harry questioned, even more distressed.

"This is true." Dakh answered--now more alert, Ron had noticed. It appeared as if the gears in Dakh's head changed direction.

"Pure Blood, nothing else!" Draco patted Dakh on his narrow shoulder and got a stolid response. The underling support Malfoy was expecting never came. Instead, Dakh frowned, and some force seemed to cause Draco's hand to recoil as if it had touched a heated stovetop. 

And in his mind's eye, something happened.

_Standing before him, a beast of hellish qualities poised to cleave Draco. Standing but a few heads taller than the wizard, the creature's mass and suppressed ferocity still dwarfed Malfoy. Looking about himself, the startled magic user found himself in what appeared to be a whirlpool of colors and lights. The only stability in this plane was the floating mound of rock both beast and human were planted upon. Amongst the blurry chaos of ancient memories resurrected (though memories that were obviously not his own), the only clear images Draco could capture of the creature was its reaping hook arms and unhinged jaw, a maw of teeth for shredding muscle and bone. It hissed and lunged._

The few seconds the trance lasted were enough. 

Malfoy eyed Dakh suspiciously, and with guised bewilderment. 

"Hm," the Slytherin assessed, "you're a queer one. Why don't you just join these Gryffindor?" And with that, Draco stomped out of the Great Hall, unsure of how to understand what had happened. Ron and Harry were just as perplexed by this visitor, but the retreat of Malfoy rested their minds for the present. And Dakh went about musing on what old Dumbledore had told him. _Yes, you may claim sanctuary here, Mr. Moonshot. However, be wary, and keep your secrets close._ Dakh chuckled to himself as Potter and Weasley departed for separate classes. 


End file.
